


Lunacy

by 28_Characters_Later



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/28_Characters_Later/pseuds/28_Characters_Later
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written as different characters for a uni assignment. Which is why it's in modern verse and Marco is more timid and such than he actually is, but I wanted to write out the beginning of my mental asylum verse on my rp blog. marco-on-wheels.tumblr.com/ today is also Marco's birthday, what better present than to ruin his life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunacy

Marco pulled the oven mitts onto his hands and then bent down to carefully take out the fresh-baked potato and ham casserole. This was sure to do it. He set it down on the table next to the oven and, sliding a hand out of a mitt, Marco rubbed the dark bags under his eyes. He couldn’t miss anymore sleep. Maybe this gift would help convince his neighbours to bring their dog in at night.

Marco placed the casserole in one of his nicest serving pans, the one with blue roses running along the side. He waited for it to cool just a little, then carried it next door. He stood for a moment in front of their door, hoping no one could hear the pounding in his chest. Then, he rapped gently on their door.

The door swung back quickly with a bang, revealing a man in his mid-thirties with a large beer-belly.

Marco beamed cheerfully, offering up the still-steaming casserole. He opened his mouth to speak but the other male beat him to it.

“The fuck do you want, fag?”

Marco winced at the word and felt something stir somewhere inside him, though he ignored it. Instead he kept his cheerful smile. “Hello! I made you and your wife a potato and ham casserole. Umm, and while I am here, I thought I’d ask again if there is any way to bring your dog -”

The man took an intimidating step closer, jabbing a thick stubby finger into Marco’s chest with each of his words. Marco flinched with every painful prod. “We told you before. We keep telling you. He’s an outdoor dog and he’s gunna stay that way. Now you can fuck your queer ass off and take your” he smirked and made his voice into a falsetto for the word ‘casserole’, “ _casserole_ with you.”

Marco took a few shaky steps back, eyes widened slightly. He cast a few nervous glances at the other’s hand. “I-I’m sorry, it was just a suggestion.” Marco backed far enough away to be out of reach.

“That’s right. Run away like the coward fag you are.”

That was when it happened. Something just cracked in him, like a twig snapping in half. ‘Marco’ vanished, and in his place this new male glared up at the hateful bitter man in the house. Stomping back over to him, ‘Marco’ smashed the casserole right in his face.

The man let out a startled yelp, wiping the food away. “What the fuck was that for, you little bitch!”

“It was for you being a fucking twat!”

The man eyed ‘Marco’ with a furrowed brow, and hollered. “The hell’s gotten into you, boy? Thought you was a pansy.” He gave ‘Marco’ a harsh shove, causing him to almost fall back down the front steps. “Piss off!”

Inside the house, the man’s wife dialed the police.

“Marco is sick of putting up with your shit!”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

It wasn’t long before the sound of sirens approached and a police car pulled up. A large officer climbed from the car and approached. “What’s all the commotion about?”

The man waved a hand in ‘Marco’s’ direction. “He’s gone nuts and attacked me! Look at this! Threw some crazy hot food right in my face! It hurts!”

“Well maybe if he wasn’t a fucking dickmuncher!” ‘Marco’ hollered back.

“Oh you’re one to talk!”

“Quiet! Both of you!” The officer glanced between the two, before finally turning to ‘Marco.’ “You. Marco Bodt. You’re usually the one _calling us._ ”

“Fuck you, asswipe, and no. Right now I’m Darco.” The officer raised a single eyebrow. “Now piss off you fat pig, I’m handling this!”

“…Okay, you’re coming down to the station.” As the officer approached, ‘Darco’ swung at him. The officer pulled out his baton, swiping it into Darco’s head to stop another attack. The hit knocked the boy over. He lay still for a moment before groaning in pain. 

The police officer dragged Marco to his feet. “Alright, we’re gunna go for a ride to the station.” ‘Marco’ turned toward the officer and darting his head down, crunched his teeth onto the hand grabbing his arm. “Ow!! You psycho!!” The baton was dropped and the officer punched ‘Marco’ hard in the face. ‘Marco’ staggered and fell to one knee but was dragged back up again.

Marco blinked, pain coursing through the back of his head and now his face hurt too. He reeled back, or at least he tried to. None of this made any sense. Marco tried to remember where he was, and what he had been doing. Before he was able to grasp the situation unfolding before him, his arms were being jerked tight up against his back, and hard rings were snapped around his wrists. He was being cuffed.

“Hey! Wait a minute! What’s going on?!”The officer gave Marco a harsh shove towards the police car. He complied, not wanting to make the red-faced man any angrier than he already appeared to be. Marco let himself be forced into the police car.

The trees and traffic lights blurred by, as the police car rounded corners, the momentum pushing Marco from side to side. After a hard swing to the left, and without his hands to brace against the seat, he thudded against the door. “Shut up!” snarled the cop, “you’re already in a LOT of trouble!” Marco started to retort _I haven’t said a word_ but realized that would be a mistake. With a final violent right hand turn, the car sped into a parking lot, and the driver jammed on the brakes. Marco thudded up against the cage blocking passage between the front and back seats, which hurt his face and made his massive headache even more excruciating which had not seemed possible.

After the cop got out and opened the car door hands grabbed on to his arm and Marco was dragged form the car, across the lot, and bounced through glass sliding doors that parted. He struggled to regain his own footing. Marco knew without a doubt that this furious officer would let him fall, hands bound and unable to stop himself, if he tripped. They enter the police station. They passed a desk and went through another glass-paned door, one that required the officer to wait briefly. A buzz filled the door, and the latch clicked. They went through, Marco thudding into the door frame. “Got a little bastard from the disturbance at Elway! Little shit BIT ME!” the officer hollered over his shoulder, as he dragged Marco down a hall. “We’ll see how he likes a night in the cells!”

BIT him? What? His head pounded with each stomp of the angry officer’s feet. They were buzzed through one last door, and then they halted in front of…. of a cage. The door was clanged open, Marco was shoved through and the steel door banged shut. “See how you like that, you fuckin idiot,” the officer muttered, and then he walked away. Marco turned awkwardly and sat on the tiny cot attached to the left wall of the cage. He slumped onto his side. The hard surface hurt everywhere, but he was exhausted. Drained. His skull was being smacked by hammers. His left cheek was a bruise. And his hands were still behind his back! A tear trickled down, along his eye and into his hair. 

 

Marco blinked. He must have dozed off at last. His face and head still ached. Where was he now? Marco sat up, and immediately his head pounded harder. Nothing made any sense. Marco tried to understand why he was sitting up on a hard little cot, in a tiny jail cell. What happened? A greyish light came in from the high window, through wired-covered glass. It must be morning.

Marco sat up on the cot which was attached to the wall of his cage. He slumped forward, staring at the floor. He was exhausted, drained. His skull throbbed. His wrists were chafed and bruised. Nothing made much sense. One minute he was standing in his….his kitchen? Yeah, that seemed right. He had been baking a….a….He shook his head slowly. Baking what? Marco furrowed his brow and concentrated. He remembered feeling nervous about the thing he had been baking. But that didn’t make any sense. Now his head was throbbing. With a sigh, Marco slumped back on his side, onto the cot. He stared at the bars.

 

The morning passed in a blur. First, a vaguely familiar officer arrived. “Get over here!” he demanded, “hold out your hands!” Cuffs were snapped onto Marco’ already tender wrists. The back of his head still throbbed. He also had a fluttery feeling in his stomach, and felt nauseous. The walk was very short: the courthouse was next door to the police station. The room was filled with rows of wooden benches, all lined up behind a wooden rail.

People were entering the courtroom and choosing bench seats, some talking quietly with companions. In front of the rail were a few tables. Men in grey suits sat at these, shuffling papers as they removed them from briefcases. At the very front of the room, a tall solid dark wood form. No one spoke to him. Marco was shoved down onto a bench. The officer sat beside him, silently. Suddenly, a wooden door at the front of the room opened, and an officer came through and stood beside the door, leaving it open.

“Please rise!” said a uniformed woman at the front of the courtroom, standing up. She had been sitting at a tiny table, near the tall wooden one, that Marco hadn’t noticed before. There were piles of papers and a small typewriter on the table. Marco shuffled unsteadily to his feet. The officer sprang up like he was trying to see over a fence: he was even smiling. A black robed older man swept into the room and sat behind the tall wooden desk at the front. “You may be seated”, said the uniformed woman. They all sat.

“What is on the list for this morning?” asked the judge, rustling though the papers on his desk.

“Three matters today,” said the woman. She picked up a manila folder and opened it. “Marco Bodt!” she called out loudly, staring inside the folder.

Marco’s heart pounded. He stood up. Marco’s couldn’t make sense of anything she listed: yelling in the street, shouting at his neighbours (the rude couple next door,), throwing food at the neighbor man, and swinging at the officer when he arrived and tried to calm Marco down. Apparently, Marco had even _bitten him_. This was impossible. He remembered none of it.

“How do you plead?” asked the judge.

“I - I don’t know, I mean, I don’t remember any of this.”

While the judge asked questions about his memory and health, Marco began to feel dizzy. The room spun. He blinked; and was being dragged away by the elbow! This really yanked on his hands, still locked in their cuffs. What had happened?

“You really are a piece of work!” said the cop, pulling him roughly by the arm. “Yelling at the judge! Cursing! Wow, you gotta be nuts! Eh well, maybe you are.” They walked next door to the police station. “Okaaay. Sit here.” Marco was shoved onto a hard metal chair. “I’m going find you a bed in the psych ward.” The officer sat down heavily, and opened a folder on his desk. He stared at the top page, then picked up his phone and dialed.

Marco could not focus on the words the officer said into the phone. Nothing made sense. Was he having blackouts? Hitting people, throwing ceramic dishes, biting people? Maybe he really was going insane. Maybe…. but why now? With a clunk, the officer hung up the phone. He turned to look at Marco.

“Ohhhhkay, sunny boy, I’m bringing you to the local asylum. We can’t keep you here, even though you _did_ bite me, but the judge for some reason thinks you’re ‘ill’ and not a violent idiot that should be locked up.” Marco stared at him in a daze. “And who the hell is this guy ‘Darco’? You did an awful lot of yelling and carrying on saying you were ‘Darco’.”

Marco snapped himself out of his daze with a shake of the head. “I - I’m not sure. I don’t even know someone named Darco…”

The officer shook his head. “The hospital can have you. You’re too far gone.” With that, he led Marco back to the police car, shoving him into the backseat.

Marco stayed silent for the drive to the asylum. He rested his head on the front seat cage, and sobbed quietly.


End file.
